


You'd better keep it in check or you'll end up a wreck and you'll never wake up

by LeotheSpaceHeadCase



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Episode: s02e22 The Wire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 01:15:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeotheSpaceHeadCase/pseuds/LeotheSpaceHeadCase
Summary: THIS IS A REWRITE AND REPOST of an earlier work. But this version I hope to make better and actually finish! (plus I wrote all of the earlier one whilst off my head) Title comes from 'Narcoleptic' by Placebo.We all need something to get us through the day. For some, it's exercise, religion or art. For Elim Garak and others, it takes something stronger, stranger and more dangerous. Starts with Garak and his 'wire', the effects of which I have based on my experiences with opiates.





	You'd better keep it in check or you'll end up a wreck and you'll never wake up

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to get dark but you will get some comfort and Garak/Bashir.  
> I've got at least 6 chapters planned. I tried to go back to the original fic several times but found it too triggering. I'll delete it when i've finished editing this one. I've changed my life a bit since then and my username and want to get this out!  
> I'm going to enjoy writing this, drawing from my many years of maladaptive coping skills!

Elim Garak had always had a air of someone who was unfeeling. He could remember when as a child, Mila, in tears whilst watching a news broadcast, turning to him and asking 'Do you have feelings?'. Of course he did, they were just hard to understand and easy to push aside, expect the most selfish ones. This illusion of indifference was a trait that Tain had praised him for and one he had grown to rely upon. Everything was a skill, Tain had said, that could be inherited or learnt. Either way, it had to be practised, homed until it came as natural as breathing. Even then it needed constant cultivation lest one get complacent. His 'sense of professionalism' as Garak had come to think of it, had served him well - he had tortured, murdered and even convinced himself that he got a twisted pleasure from doing so. He had survived longer than many of his colleagues as he had no qualms about double-crossing them, anything to serve Cardassia and himself. Nothing else was important.

Only now, on the newly renamed Deep Space Nine, Cardassia did not want his service. He was determined to sustain his aloof demeanour, still pushing away the unendurable horrors that he had seen and committed. But the severe and likely terminal, reality of his situation enveloped him in a cloud of hopelessness. The hate filled stares from the Bajorans began to hit their mark, piercing the barrier Garak had erected around himself. The damn was broken, the monstrous feelings gushed in.

Still, Elim Garak was a survivor, the severe fear of failing he had covered in a veneer of an inflated sense of self-importance ensured would keep living. The wire implant was his savour. The care-free, detached, indifferent, Elim could continue.

Oh, was he detached in this moment and comfortable! Just so comfortable. He was warm at last and the brightness of the lights no longer mattered. Nothing did. 'More' was his only though so he turned the dial up. It only took a few seconds for the wave to hit him. He turned it again. Every sensation became better, sharper. The carpet beneath his bare feet was now soft, the heavy, scratchy fabric of his clothes was now pleasant. He ran his fingers through his hair, it was so smooth, so delicate. Even breathing was now a pleasure. But his mouth was dry.

He got up, walked over to the replicator and requested a glass of water. He waved his hands through the air, it was as if he could feel the atmospheric molecules part as he moved. He wasn't sure whether hismovements would appear graceful or ungainly, they felt both controlled and out of control. In fact, that was an accurate description of how he felt entirely. He had never turned his 'Wire' up so high before. The water felt silken within his mouth. He had no idea that such simple things could bring such contentment. There was a small, snivelling part of himself that was disgusted for getting into his current state but most of him was just enjoying the ride. He had not felt so relaxed in a long time, he was bordering on aroused.

The computer announced it was 0850 hours, time to head to his shop. Socks and shoes on and controller in his pocket, he prepared to leave his quarters. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror - he looked his normal, well groomed self, though there was a slight flush to his cheeks and his pupils were but pinpoints. 

He walked the corridors of the station with a smile. He was not oblivious to the stares, sideways glances, muttered comments or the one incident of projectile oral secretions that accompanied him to his shop, he just didn't care today. He was untouchable, impenetrable. He spent some time admiring the materials he had, their textures, patterns, weights were all so much more interesting now. At some point during the morning he turned the dial on his control up to maximum. He tried to cut out a pattern in a pale yellow fabric but failed several attempts to cut straight so abandoned it. He laughed and played with himself. Eventually his thoughts turned to what was to be his other business venture.

"Computer, show me personal files of all senior staff on Deep Space Nine"  
"Authorisation required"

Hacking into the files turned out to be a much simpler task in his intoxicated state than cutting the cloth had been. Old habits die hard, he supposed. In order to stay on the station would have to to show Starfleet and the Bajoran officials that he meant no harm. He was not above gaining their endearment through telling tall tales of personal hardship, misfortune and claiming asylum if he must but he would much prefer to gain their respect rather than pity. It would be easy for him to become part of the society of the station, privy to all sorts of information, by playing the plain, simple, tailor. He may yet, one day, prove himself to still be useful enough to gain back Tain's and therefore Cardassia's favour. He could but hope. He needed an angle, he was to start with befriending someone.

He didn't bother to look at the Commanders file, heading straight for the top would never look sincere. He would of course, examine all the personal files in great detail at some point but not now. The second in command was a Bajoran Major - a former member of the Shakaar resistance cell no less. He smiled to himself, they were the ones that gave Dukat such hard work. There was no point in going there either. The Science Officer, Jadzia Dax, was a joined trill. Joined trill were notoriously difficult to manipulate. The Chief Engineer appeared to be a family man, that could be useful, but he had heavily involved in the Cardassian – Federation war. Perhaps not then. Odo, the shape shifter was to remain the Chief of Security, his newly written federation file practically blank. There was potential there. The being himself and his loyalties were still somewhat of a mystery. They had not interacted much. Garak was certain Dukat had instructed Odo to keep a close eye on him but Odo seemed more interested in the crimes of the present than an old grudge. 

Then there was the Chief Medical Officer.

'Aha!' He thought. The Doctor was human and young, straight out of medical school in fact. This was his first Starfleet commission, he did not appear to have spent much time off Earth. There was something about the coding within his file that just seemed 'off'. If he had been clear headed, Garak would have jumped on it but such was his state, he was far more interested the profile picture. The young doctor was very attractive. Garak smiled to himself, he may have hit the jackpot in more ways than one.

"Computer, locate Doctor Julian Bashir"  
"Doctor Bashir is in the replimat."

He beamed. It was time to make his presence known.


End file.
